


To Kill

by a_shot_in_the_dark



Category: The Following
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 23:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_shot_in_the_dark/pseuds/a_shot_in_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They all kill. It means something different for each.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Kill

Paul was all muscle and strength. Jacob watched his muscles tense before he plunged the knife into her body. It wasn't slow or sensual, it was brutal and intense, his hand flying and blood spraying. Paul wasn't done after one stab. It was unnecessary, but he stabbed her again and again, shallow stabs that ripped through her just by the force of his hand. He had the power, he had all the power.

Emma was defensive, territorial. She watched her mother gasp. For once, she was in charge. Jacob was hers, not her mother's. Her mother was a nobody, and she enjoyed watching her expression change, watched the bitch look so betrayed. _You really did it_. It was so satisfying, hearing those words. She did it.

Jacob was gentle, unsure. _I love you_. Those words were ringing and ringing into his ear, making him deaf, making him insane, mad. He pushed the pillow harder against Paul’s face, his hands shaking. Paul’s body revolted against him, automatically flailing. He pushed down even harder and he could feel the fight leaving Paul’s body until eventually, he was gone. His best friend, just gone. Death seemed so ugly right then.

Roderick was all impulse. His heart was beating. He knew the girl trusted him. And when she turned around, he grabbed her by the throat, saw the fear in her eyes. He was nothing but adrenaline and power. He rammed her head into the wall. Again and again and again. Blood was dripping off him as he dropped her body to the floor. The thrill- the absolute high- of killing was so delicious. 

Joe believed in death being art, something beautiful. He worked to the melody of his victim’s screams, delighted in her squeals and begging. He met her breath for breath, waiting until he hit that sweet spot, that moment when everything came to a climax. His work was beautiful, a masterpiece. But the sweetest sight was watching the life leave her eyes, her body now nothing more than an empty shell of beautiful memories.


End file.
